Underneath It All
by DroopyGoldfish
Summary: Voldemort terrorised the world with his cruelty, ruthlessness, and love of murder, torture and pain. But what drove him down this path to begin with? One shot, set on the night James and Lily died.


The night was young. The first of the stars were emerging out of their shell and the last of the flowers were closing their petals, ready for the night ahead. The navy blue sky covered the world below in its soft darkness, the brightness of the full moon lighting the road. Many people were arriving home from work, settling down for the night spent with their families. Others were shutting up their houses and turning on the porch light, ready to head out for the night.

Inside a medium-sized cottage, a woman stood in the kitchen. As she set the kettle on to boil and lighted the stove at the back, a squealing behind her made her spin around. A little boy, only a few months past his first birthday, sat in his highchair, mushing baby food into his hair. He clapped his hands in delight whenever a piece hit the floor, and smiled at the mess he was making.

Lily Potter smiled at her son. If it had been anyone else, she would have been mad at them for messing up her recently cleaned kitchen. All day she had spent on her hands and knees, scrubbing the tiles to return them to their former shine. When she had finished, her back was aching and her fingers were shrivelled from the water, but she had been pleased. Now, looking at the food, she knew she would have to spend tomorrow doing the same thing, but her son's happiness was contagious, and she found she didn't care.

She walked to the highchair and held out her arms. Little Harry giggled and reached his chubby arms towards his mother. Lily swooped him up and spun him around in the air, before hugging him close to her chest.

She pointed to the floor and said, 'Look at what you did, Harry-poo.' Harry followed his mothers' gaze and grinned widely. 'No more food,' he said. Lily gaped at him in shock. Apart from little words, like mum and dad, she had never heard her son talk. She kissed him on the top of the head and set him on the floor, turning back to finish making her cup of hot chocolate.

She was humming to herself when a tap on her ankle caused her to look down. Harry stood there on unsteady legs, held his little hand to his mouth. With a look on deep concentration on his face, he held his hand out to Lily and blew the kiss to her. As Lily stood there, thoroughly stupefied, Harry trotted away on his legs, stumbling every one in a while. Lily's eyes filled with tears. Her darling little boy was growing up.

Later that night, as Lily was tucking Harry into bed, her thoughts strayed to her husband. She remembered the days when she had bitterly hated him, but now she couldn't imagine life without James. For the past two weeks he had been away, ignoring Dumbledore's request to stay in hiding. Instead he was determined to carry on with life, and the chance of catching a group of Death Eaters was too hard to pass up.

As Lily kissed Harry goodnight and turned out the light, her hand rested briefly on her abdomen. The past week had been lived in fear; fear for herself, her husband and her baby son, but now from the darkness a light gleamed. And when James returned home tomorrow, she would tell him the news. She imagined the look on his face when she told him she was pregnant again.

As the night drew slowly to a close, a dark figure appeared on the outskirts of town. Now that he knew exactly where the family was, nothing was standing in his way. As he slipped silently into the alley, the people of Godric's Hollow knew nothing of the terror that lay ahead. No one could have predicted the storm that was about to hit.

Voldemort strolled through the village of Godric's Hollow, his black robes billowing out behind him. His feet fell lightly on the earth, and his unearthly shadow cast eerie shadows on the dry leaves that lined that path. The mid-autumn sun warmed his cold shoulders, the sunlight dancing pleasantly on his face.

He walked casually down the street, trying his utmost to fit in, but still the villagers shrank back in fear as he passed. Voldemort's eyes burned for a moment, as if this treatment hurt him, but the feeling soon passed. His twisted his mouth into a cruel smile. Who cared if the villagers shunned him out? By the end of the night he would have what he wanted, what his body commanded of him.

He followed Lily Potter, as she ran errands around town, being careful to keep in the shadows, out of her sight. He was hoping to catch a sight of the little boy, but Lily had dropped him off at a friend's that morning while she enjoyed the out doors for the first time in a week. Instead, Voldemort watched her with interest. Her bright eyes danced with her happiness, and her expression betrayed nothing of her inner fears. It had been a week since Voldemort had let it become known that he was after them, but the family didn't let it bother them. Voldemort admired her strength.

As the sun began to set and the first of the pink lines began to fill the sky, Lily Potter collected her son and headed back to her home. Voldemort kept his gaze fixed firmly on her, but she never vanished. Even as she walked into the boundaries of the Charm, she never once left his piercing stare. Voldemort's eyes drooped. He had hoped that his informant was wrong. But it seemed that the fates had once again been cruel to him.

He sat and waited as the night drew closer. The chilly air blew across his face but he felt no cold. He sat, his knees drawn up to his chin in a foetal position, until a faint _crack_ filled the air. It seemed that James had apparated home.

As James Potter began to make his way up his front steps, a flash of black passed through the very depths of his vision. He turned to face the spot where it had appeared, but nothing was visible in the growing darkness. Deciding that it was just a trick of the light, James entered his home, without looking back.

Under the shadows of the trees, Voldemort cursed silently. Fool, he thought to himself. He had deliberately shown himself for a moment, hoping the man would realise what was about to happen, but it seemed Severus Snape was right about him. Arrogant and bigheaded to the bone.

As the sun set fully behind the clouds and the town was once again blanketed by the sky, Voldemort stood up. After years of waiting, the time had arrived.

He walked up the garden path to the front door and pulled out his wand. As he closed his eyes briefly, his hand moved involuntarily and he found himself muttering the spell, _'Alohomora'_.

Inside the house, James heard the muttered curse, and swiftly turned back to where his wife and child were playing in the living room. Urgently, he waved them over to where he was standing, and grasped Lily's shoulders tightly.

'It's him. Take Harry and run,' were the last words he ever spoke.

James put on a brave face as Voldemort drew closer. He held his wand in front of his body as if ready to duel, but in the blink of an eye, a flash of green light was seen and James Potter lay dead upon the floor.

Voldemort walked up the stairs, shooting curses at everything in sight. He could hear the woman sobbing softly to herself in an upstairs bedroom and automatically began to follow her trail. He blasted the door to the boy's bedroom off its hinges and took a step into the room.

'Please, not Harry. Not Harry. I'll do anything.'

Voldemort looked at the cowering woman before him, and a deep longing filled his heart. How he wished his mother could have held him like that. All his childhood he had spent wishing his mother was there, to soothe him and rock him to sleep. How he had wished to be loved by another.

As he looked at the baby huddled tightly in the woman's arms, he thought back to his days at the orphanage. In the middle of a cold winters night, a little boy aged five sat huddled in the corner of his room, his thin blanket wrapped around him, sobbing as the storm raged on outside. He had never like storms, but no one could provide comfort for him. The nuns at the orphanage were always to busy, and he didn't have a friend; all his life, Tom Riddle had been alone.

As he sat, his arms wrapped around his legs, a figure appeared before him. A shining angel clothed in red stood in the centre of the room, light pouring out of his body into the surrounding area. He beckoned to the boy, and Tom obeyed.

He had introduced himself to the boy as Mr Beelzy, and throughout the long night comforted him. The next day, Tom ran down to breakfast, eager to show everyone his new friend. But although Mr Beelzy was as real to him as any other person, no one else was able to see him.

From that day on, Mr Beelzy had been his only companion. Some people may have said he was imaginary, but as time wore on they saw a change in Tom. He became darker and moodier, bullying other children and killing animals. But without any other explanation, the nuns assumed that he was just a strange child.

As Voldemort watched Lily through teary eyes, his life flashed before him. He could still hear the voices that had appeared inside his head as Mr Beelzy dug deeper and deeper into his mind. At first the voices commanded him to bully the other kids, but as time wore on, the demands became more aggressive and more powerful. When Tom finally realised what had happened, it was far to late. Already, his mind had been taken over by another.

All his life he had begged for help, but no one ever listened to him. He knew that he was a danger to society, and had begged to be locked away from the world. But the adults of the wizarding world had shut out his cries, and carried on with life. And so Mr Beelzy had bent his mind to do his willing, and shaped Voldemort into the man he had become.

His adult life had been hell, full of lies and deceit. Oh, his Death Eaters were loyal enough, but just like every one else, they cared nothing about him. They only stayed with him to gain power. He doubted if any would come to find him when he was gone.

Now, as the time for action drew closer, he ran over the final details of his plan in his head. After a lifetime of killings, blackmail, torture and deception, his time had come. Tonight was the time when his reign of terror would end. And nothing, not even Mr Beelzy, could stop him.

"Not Harry, please, not Harry."

Lily's piercing cries broke into his thoughts. He looked once again at the baby nestled in her arms. Such a lovely boy, but Voldemort knew that he would be famous in his later life. Lily drew him closer to her chest, and he knew in that instant that she would do anything for her son. Voldemort's heart ached. No one would ever risk their life to save him.

He pointed his wand at Lily, his hand shaking for a moment. She was so pretty; it would be a shame to kill her. But it needed to be done. Without her death, his plan would be thwarted, and there was no telling what he might do next.

With one swift movement, he muttered the words every witch or wizard dreaded to hear.

'Avada Kedrava'

Lily's eyes widened in terror, then her body fell to the floor, stiff and lifeless.

Voldemort turned away from the woman, and pointed his wand between the boy's eyes. The green light that erupted from the tip of his wand was all part of his plan. He briefly wondered if any would ever know his story.

And when the curse rebounded of the little boy and turned back on him, that was all part of the plan too. Voldemort screamed in agony as his life was forced out of his body, wondering if this was how all of his victims had suffered before their deaths. He watched the boy, still and limb on the floor, as he waited for death to take him.

The pain stopped, but somehow Voldemort remained. Oh, he didn't have a body, and he was in a state worse than death, but he was still there nonetheless. And as long as a part of his soul remained, there was always a way in which he could come back.

And so he fled, fled through the town, through the country, through caves and mines and crossed the ocean. Eventually, when he was too tired to carry on, he among the woods, where the thickset trees would hide him from peering eyes. And as he managed to conceal himself in a hollow space underneath a mass of rocks, his thoughts strayed to his people. It could be many years before he was found here, but it was inevitable that he would be discovered. And when he was, all the terror and death would continue.

His plan had failed. He had survived the curse that was designed to kill him. And although he was now hidden from the world, and the population of it's people, already he could feel Mr Beelzy stirring inside of him. It could be years before he recovered any strength, but Mr Beelzy would be patient. And when the time came, the demons that had haunted Voldemort's youth would be ready to strike again, more terrible than before.

And so Voldemort lay down his head, and waited.

 **A/N:** For context, 'Beelzy' is a shortened version of 'Beelzebub', which is a Biblical term for the Devil.


End file.
